Saltwater Rising
by HamburgerHotline
Summary: A series of mysterious murders shakes the downtrodden folk a decaying port. Even after the so-called 'Lantern Ghost Killer' is caught, some in the city believe that the true killer is still out there. It's left to a womanizing rogue, a snarky former marine, and a mute Myconid to follow the clues that the local militia ignores.
1. A Dying Port

It was before sunrise when the first wave hit, rocking the _Moradin's Glory_ back and forth and causing one of its passengers to fall out of the makeshift bed he was sleeping in. This was Jaran Varden - playwright, thief, and, now adventurer.

Jaran got this feet, looking around him. He was in the _Glory's_ cargo hold - he had fallen asleep after one his favourite activities: bedding a young elven woman, who, he observed, still lay fast asleep in the collection of barrels, crates, and blankets the two had been using as a bed.

By examination, the Elven woman couldn't even be 75, and a greater man than Jaran might take issue with sleeping with a person who could be hardly be considered a young adult. However, Jaran justified his escapade, he didn't spend all those years in the Bellmoral Thieves' Guild to preach to himself about morality and the law.

Luckily for his bedmate, the storm hadn't woken her. As for the rogue, however, the violent rocking of the ship and sound of thundering rain reverberating through the below decks didn't lend well to rest, and so he did the next best thing: He located his clothes, and all except the vest he usually wore as an outer layer, dressed before heading up the ladder to the upper deck.

The situation proved worse than Jaran had expected. Waves that could be no smaller than three stories battered the sides of the _Glory_, not only sending her careening from side to side, but also causing water to forcefully wash across the deck. All this illuminated only by flashes of lighting, each followed by roaring thunder in its wake. Truly, Jaran feared, he might have made a mistake taking this voyage.

There were only a few figures on the deck in these conditions, most being Dwarves. As the name suggested, the _Moradin's Glory_ was a Dwarven vessel - in fact, the known skill of Dwarven craftsmen was the only thing keeping Jaran from falling to his knees and praying to every oceanic deity he could think of. It also meant that the crew were no taller than five feet, making one person on the top deck stand out amongst the rest: A beautiful young woman about Jaran's age, dressed in a worn, military-style jacket and carrying both a longsword and flintlock sidearm on a belt around her waist.

The bard vaguely recognized this woman as the passenger in the quarters next to his. They had had no interaction, as Jaran hadn't spent much time in his room, but he could remember seeing her short brown hair and beautiful face and thinking to himself that, should his advances on the Elf be spurred, she'd be the next target of his infamous charm.

Jaran approached, and tried to start conversation with the topic that was, no doubt, on everyone's mind: "Crazy weather we're having."

"Ye reckon 'tis bad?" The woman raised an eyebrow, "Ye ain't seen anythin'." Her voice was full of an accent Jaran recognized as belonging to the Kingdom of Keoland's coastal regions - which, considering the Glory's destination of Saltmarsh was located there, made sense.

"If thirty-foot waves threatening to sink this ship isn't the worst the sea has to offer us, I think I might stay on land for a while." Jaran responded, shrugging slightly.

"Aye, ye better." The woman agreed, a strong smugness in her voice, "Nah everyone can handle Talos' glory, can they, cap'n?"

"No, I do not believe so, lassie." The dwarven captain chuckled, causing Jaran to grimace, and not just from the rain biting against his face. The rogue decided to steer the conversation towards the true purpose of his visit, to avoid further bite from the two obviously sea-trained individuals.

"How will this affect our arrival date in Saltmarsh?" Jaran inquired.

"We were jus' natterin' about that, actually." The woman responded before the Dwarf could, "We be lootin' a detour."

Although Jaran had trouble understanding this woman's odd dialect, he could understand the word 'detour', and could assume 'looting'' meant 'taking'.

"Where to and how long?" He cut straight to the chase once more.

"One day, laddie." The Dwarf finally got the chance to speak, "And to the Styes, the closest city with a functioning port."

'Functioning'. That was an odd one. Jaran had never been to the Styes, but from what he'd heard of it, nothing there was 'functioning' there. Formerly called the Island of Pleasure, the Styles used to be a glorious resort for the rich and famous, until tragedy after tragedy struck - war, famine, plague, you name it. Over time, the Island of Pleasure had turned into a massive ghetto.

Still, he was in no place to complain. Dwarves knew their craftsmanship better than he, and so if this captain felt his ship wouldn't stand the storm, who was Jaran to question him? The bard sighed, putting his hands in his pockets to get them out of the rain and nipping cold that accompanied it. "How long until we arrive?"

The sun had just risen when the _Glory_ docked in the Styes, and it was just how Jaran had pictured it: the decaying remains of a once noble port city. Under bent gables, the carcasses of its houses leaned against one another - languid, broken, and awaiting peace of collapse. Door frames sagged, dislocated from sod walls heavy with mildew, while splintering timbers supported rotten boardwalks like broken limbs, disappearing into the thick, rancid water of the harbour below.

Although most of the passengers elected to remain on board, Jaran was not one to sit around and do nothing. There was a thieves' guild in the Styes, which meant he could easily find himself amongst friends. But first came a more important bit of business: finding a place where he could get a stiff drink.

As Jaran disembarked, he found himself alongside the woman from yesterday, dressed in different clothes except for her jacket, and carrying her sword and pistol once more. This wasn't surprising - Jaran himself had also taken his armourmnets. Aside from hidden daggers and thieves' tools, he had a rapier on one side of his toolbelt and a flintlock on the other. He had no will to become another casualty of the poverty and crime of the Styes, after all.

"Happy t' be on land again, landlubber?" The woman taunted Jaran once the gangplanks had been walked and they stood firmly on the pier. To be honest, Jaran was quite happy, but he wasn't about to admit that.

"Happy to be an ass to strangers, sea dog?" he shot back. This elicited a laugh from the woman.

"Landlubber's got sass!" She chuckled, "I'll give 'im that. Ye can call me Aldrava. Aldrava Hollace. Who might ye be?"

"Jaran..." Jaran extended a hand, "...Varden."

There were three possible responses to the name 'Jaran Varden', based off if she had seen his hit play, _The Virtue of Embers_, and her opinion of nobility. He was going to wager she hadn't seen it. Although the _Virtue_ was a sensation back in Bellmoral, it was mostly such for the nobility, and she didn't seem the type to be a noble. So, he was expecting a casual response, not one of awe that she was meeting a man who had entertained the nobility, or one of disgust that he had associated with the pretentious highborns of society.

Much to his surprise, as Aldrava took his hand, an air of recognition came across her face, "Ye wrote th' _Virtue_!" she exclaimed, "I knew ye looked familiar!"

Jaran smirked. Maybe he did have a chance with this woman after all. Even if he was currently a one-hit wonder, the fact that he could entertain the elite of Bellmoral had gotten him in bed with many a woman since it became a sensation.

"Guilty as charged." Jaran smiled, taking Aldrava's hand and guiding it to his lips, where he placed a soft kiss on her knuckle.

"Shove it up yer arse, Jaran." Aldrava rolled her eyes, "Yer fancy play only proved that people 'ave low standards when it comes t' theater."

"Ouch." the playwright winced.

"But." Aldrava cut in, "ye've earned yourself a seat next t' me at th' bar. I wants t' see if th' landlubber can hold his drink."

Jaran sighed. 'Mixed signals' was an understatement. Just as Jaran was about to ask if Aldrava knew where a bar was located, a new figure emerged from the Glory and came down the gangplank, this one immediately catching the attention of both humans.

The figure's resemblance to a large toadstool mushroom and obvious fungal nature suggested it was a Myconid, but Jaran hadn't remembered seeing something so odd when sailing on the Glory for the past three days. Yet, clearly it had been aboard - as it was currently lumbering down the ramp to shore

"How long has he been aboard?" Aldrava raised an eyebrow, confirming to Jaran that his observational abilities hadn't gone soft.

"I have no idea." Jaran affirmed, "First I've seen it."

As the two prepared to discuss this strange occurrence, though, the Myconid approached them, and two hands reached to the hilt of their respective swords, just in case. Luckily, the Myconid didn't seem to mean trouble - instead, it simply stared at the two for a bit.

"Hello?" Jaran asked, cautiously. Still no response, at least not verbally. Instead, the mushroom pointed with one hand to Jaran, then Aldrava, then finally to itself, before its hand returned to once more hanging loosely at its side.

"I reckon he wants t' travel wit' us?" Aldrava seemed just as confused as Jaran at this creature's behaviour. "Guess he doesn't want t' be alone in th' Styes. Can nah say I blame 'im, this bum town."

Jaran had to agree. A creature as exotic as a Myconid was going to attract a _lot_ of attention - and in a 'bum town' like the Styes, that was not a positive thing.

"Well, we're just going to get a drink, yeah?" The playwright reasoned, "I guess he can come."

"Wha''s yer name?" Aldrava asked the Myconid, "if ye're goin' t' drink wit' us, we needs somethin' t' call ye."

Once again, the fungus remained mute, simply staring at Aldrava with the two glowing orbs that (one could assume) passed for its eyes.

"Right." Aldrava nodded, "Strong 'n silent. I'll call ye 'Shroom' if that's okay wit' ye."

'Shroom' didn't seem to protest.

'The Bat & Dog' was the first tavern the group of three came across, located just three minutes of walking aimlessly through the Styes. It was a run down place, but seemingly less decrepit than the other buildings, and so its dive bar status was ignored and soon the two humans were seated at a booth, Shroom opting to remain standing to the side of the table.

Three copper pieces were paid by each of the Party, and in turn drinks were brought out to them. However, one thing was on both humans' minds: Although it still hadn't spoken, Shroom had ordered an Orcish ale by pointing at it on the menu, and paid for it, yet it didn't seem to have a mouth with which to drink it. Did it have a hidden mouth? If not, how did it plan to consume?

Although neither of the two knew exactly what they expected, the answer came in a form they certainly didn't: Shroom took the ale and poured it on itself, akin to watering a plant. Logically, this made sense. He was, as far as they were aware, a plant. Still, it elicited a laugh from Jaran, followed by chuckle from Aldrava.

"So, landlubber, ye're a writer." Aldrava began, once a few sips of each of their drinks had been taken, "Nah necessarily a good'un, but 'tis yer trade. Yet I found ye wit' cutlass 'n gun, on a galleon t' a foreign land. Why?"

"Inspiration." Jaran replied, simply enough, "Plays don't write themselves. I need material." He decided not to mention the letter. The thieves' guild in Bellmoral had intercepted a letter to the mercenaries guild, detailing an assignment that, albeit not well defined, was lucrative enough that Jaran felt it could get him out of the poverty that came with one's inspiration well running dry.

"You're a…" The writer began, "Actually, I'm not sure what you are."

Aldrava leaned in across the table, and for a moment, Jaran couldn't help but glance down her top. "I be a marine." She said at last, her voice hardly above a whisper, "Or at least I was. Quit th' life a few years back." That would explain the military uniform jacket, and the knowledge about sailing that had inflated her ego earlier that morning.

"Keoland?" Jaran guessed.

"Aye, Keoland." Aldrava nodded, "Served her fer six years afore th' sexism got t' me. Men, hardly more competent than ye, were promoted ahead o' me each month."

"And now you're an adventurer? Or just going back home?"

"'t'would loot a lot t' brin' me back ship, landlubber." Aldrava shook her head, leaning back, "No, me guild got a letter. Some noble sort be assemblin' a crew t' go on a mission, 'n ye wouldna believe th' loot he's offerin'."

Jaran raised an eyebrow. "Was it Aubreck Drallion by any chance?" He couldn't help but ask.

"Aye. Somethin' in Saltmarsh, wouldna say wha'. But he needs a crew, 'n th' pay be fantastic. Ye know 'im?"

Now it was Jaran's turn to lean across the table, lowering his voice as his companion had done earlier. "I got the letter too." He admitted, "Well, my guild did. You're not going to believe this, but I'm en route to Saltmarsh for the same reason."

A half-grin crossed Aldrava's face. "Then I guess this makes us a Party. Me 'n a landlubber, who would 'ave guessed?"

Jaran returned the grin. "I guess it does."

Thirty minutes and nine copper pieces later, Jaran and Aldrava walked out of the Bat & Dog, followed closely by Shroom. Already, the Myconid was getting some odd looks, and not just became it was literally pouring drinks on itself a few minutes ago.

"So, wha' now, landlubber?" Aldrava inquired.

"Fucked if I know." Jaran responded with a shrug, "You're the sea dog, and we're in a port town."

"Nah a port town I've ever been t' afore." Aldrava countered, "But I suppose a bit o' walkin' can nah hurt, thar has t' be somethin' t' do around here."

Jaran agreed with a nod, and the two began to walk down the street, looking at building signs and facades for something that might pique their interest.

They didn't find one, however, instead finding quite a scene in what passed for the Styes' city market. An aged man dressed in grey robes brandished a holy symbol against an onslaught of rocks and taunts, tossed at him by a small crowd.

"Please!" The man begged, "He wasn't a murderer! Even if he was, nobody knew! I surely didn't! He never told me anything!"

The crowd was undeterred. Although the rocks bounced harmlessly off a bubble emitting from the holy symbol, each projectile got a bit further, and it was clearly only a matter of time until the Sanctuary gave way.

This gave Jaran and Aldrava pause. On one hand, this man was clearly being harassed, on the other, they were new to the Styles, causing trouble might not be the best course of action. The decision if to intervene or not was a difficult one.

It was Shroom who made the decision for them, lumbering towards the poor man and his hassles and positioning its fungal body between the two. Just as the lynch mob began murmuring among themselves and the rocks became less frequent, Shroom extended its staff, a ball of flame engulfing the end.

Although the fire flickered and licked at the tip of Shroom's staff, the wood did not burn or turn to ash. This was magic - surprising Jaran and Aldrava as much as the crowd. It was sufficient; the common folk of the Styes knew better than to mess with one capable of controlling the elements, and they scattered, blending back into the crowds that wandered the streets or simply fleeing altogether.

Once he was sure there was no threat left, Shroom ended its spell, the fire flickering for only a few moments before going out like one had blown on a candle. The man behind him also ended his Sanctuary spell, and as Jaran and Aldrava approached, he looked them up and down.

"T-thank you!" The man enthused, "Thank you so much! The Lantern Ghost Murders! They have turned people into monsters! Paranoia! Lynching! And it's all covered up!"

"Slow down, scallywag." Aldrava ordered, "'twas Shroom here who saved yer life, we don't wants t' hear yer tale."

Just as the man was about the apologize, Jaran spoke up. "Honestly, I do." He commented, "We need something to do. What's the harm in listening to an old man ramble for a bit?"

Aldrava sighed. "This was nah wha' I had in mind." she protested before giving in, "But I suppose 'twill do."

"Then come!" The man motioned constantly with his hands as he spoke, as if somehow being too still would cause him discomfort, "Let's go to my place! I have food! And drink! W-we can- I mean you can- you'll be quite comfortable!"

A modest wood-and-brick building sat among the Alchemist's Quarter, a large district housing all sorts of chemical work that would be frowned upon in a more civilized city. It was here that the three adventurers were lead, and here that they found themselves eating stale bread and drinking cheap ale as they sat in rotting chairs surrounded by half-finished clockwork inventions, the smell of grease, and shelves of books on every imaginable topic.

The man Shroom had saved stood before them, pacing and making grand gestures as he explained his situation: He was named Sherborne Refrum, and he was a solitary individual with few who he could call friends. The one he had once considered his closest friend was Jarme Loveage, a man whose execution Refrum had attended only the previous day. The memory, it was apparent, still haunted the tinkerer.

"The Lantern Ghost Murders!" Refrum became more excited, "Terrible, terrible things! For half a year, each night new victims would be slayed in the most gruesome ways! Then, without fail, left in public places to be discovered the next morning. Oh, those poor people who had to find the bodies… they were never the same…"

"Oh, but that isn't all! The Militia, they hardly raised a finger! Sure, they put on a show of investigating each crime scene, but they hardly went on after that! They didn't put any extra patrols in areas where the Lantern Ghost struck, or- or anything!"

"How did they catch yer heartie, then?" Aldrava inquired. Despite her initial resistance to this meeting, she had proven quite interested in the story.

"They- they didn't!" Refrum made an excited gesture, "It was a poor, poor woman… found Jarme standing right over a mutilated corpse! Covered in blood! Knife in hand! But… something was different about him, I heard. Jarme- Jarme was a kind and gentle soul, and sane as any man can be! But, when they found him, he was distant… quiet... until he flew into these… incoherent ramblings! He went to the gallows a loon, a loon I tell you! Of course, I tried to investigate myself. But there's only so much a man can do, and the Militia, they were always of no help! They blocked me at every turn, even when I offered to cast Speak on Jarme's corpse!"

Jaran moved to stroke his beard before remembering he had shaved his facial hair when he left Bellmoral.

"Oh, but it gets worse!" Refrum insisted, suddenly flying into another fit of excitement, "They threatened to lock me up in Hopene'er, just like Jarme! If I continued my investigation, I mean! Which is why I come to you, noble adventurers. They can't lock you up! Well, I mean, they can, but I reckon they won't. You have that… Thing! That mushroom man! That Myconid! They wouldn't dare mess with you so long as he's around!"

Jaran paused, his hand once again reaching to where his beard would have been. His facial hair had been in a style popular with the nobility of Bellmoral - he had shaven it to better blend in with the common man, but was now beginning to regret it. Surely, he looked like a fool constantly reaching to his face, only to come away empty.

"What's there to investigate?" He inquired at last, "They caught Jarme with knife, body, and insanity. I'm going to take it he didn't have an alibi?"

"Aye." Aldrava nodded, "He might 'ave been sane when ye knew 'im, but it jus' seems t' me th' Abyss had a grip on his mind when ye weren't lookin'."

"Ah, but- but!" Refrum raised an aged finger, "The Lantern Ghost didn't stop! Today! This morning! A young fisherman called Raif - poor soul - he was murdered in the exact same way! The Guard, they've been doing their best to cover it up, but word spreads! Put it all together and what do you get?!"

"A framing." Jaran affirmed, "We'll look into it. But we're only here for a day, so don't expect miracles."

"Thank you!" Refrum grinned from ear to ear, "Blessings be upon you, adventurers! But be warned! I believe there are forces at work - dark ones! And I believe they have formed a massive conspiracy! I believe they put a curse on Jarme - a horrible one that twisted his mind! Then, when he was caught, they wrapped their hand around his brain and- and squeezed! Of course, whoever is in this conspiracy- whoever runs it, they have power over the guards! That would explain the quick execution, the cover up of poor Raif! It would explain everything!"

Much to Jaran's surprise, Aldrava didn't seem to have any objections to running a little investigation of their own. Perhaps, he pondered, it was because they had nothing else to do for their day on detour. Or, perhaps, she had a more altruistic side.

"The Council must be involved in this!" Refrum continued ranting, "And I am sure they are watching me! My reputation as a thorn in the side of the council... nobody will speak to me. But you, not only do you have a magic mushroom! You have no reputation! People will talk to you! So, go! Go to Hopene'er Asylum! That's where Jarme was held his last days! That is where you're sure to find clues!


	2. Dark Justice

Located on the far side of the Styes, Hopene'er Asylum was the last remnants of a more optimistic time, when the desperate and doomed of the Styes were cared for and watched over. Now, it was a prison. Large stone walls dotted with barred off windows kept the public out and the inmates in, each keeping their own little worlds apart from each other.

As Jaran, Shroom, and Aldrava approached, they couldn't help but notice a well-worn wooden sign hanging over the main gate. One which read only the ominous words: Welcome Home.

"Well that's farrgin' morbid." Aldrava commented, prompting a nod from Jaran and even what was possible a nod from Shroom.

The team approached the gate and Jaran tried the handle, but to no avail. It was locked, most likely to keep the lunatics locked up there from having an easy exit.

Luckily, it was not long until their presence at the gate was noticed by a youth in a grey tunic with 'Hopene'er' written across the back and a number across the right breast. This was an inmate - an assumption solidified by the fact that this child had an unnerving, blank look in his eyes. It was as if his very soul ceased to exist.

"Welcome to Hopene'er. Name is Brey. Help you?" The youth spoke quickly, leaving out words.

"Aye, wee one." Aldrava leaned down so she was on Brey's level, "We seek entry. Can ye get us someone t' let us in?"

"Will fetch Miss Trantor." Brey announced, "Be back shortly." With that, he walked further into the asylum grounds, before vanishing into the main building.

A few minutes later, Brey returned, holding the hand of an elderly woman in a doctor's coat. Once again, 'Hopene'er' was written on the back, but there was no identification number. Instead, a badge hung around the woman's neck, identifying her as Emil Trantor.

"Dr. Trantor, I assume?" Jaran spoke up as the woman approached.

"Not doctor, miss." Emil corrected the rogue, "There are no doctors working here anymore. Do you have a patient to enroll?"

"Aye. Me." Aldrava's voice took on the tone one might associate with dark, sarcastic humour, "I agreed t' come t' a spooky asylum t' investigate a murder in a city I've only ever heard o', accompanied by a landlubber 'n a magic mushroom.. So, lock me up, for no doubt I be crazy."

Ignoring this, Jaran replied, "No. We're here on behest of Sherborne Refrum."

"That's Mr. Loveage's friend, isn't it?" Emil asked, "Poor, poor man. I can't imagine having to see my best - if possibly only - friend hanging from the gallows. However, I'm afraid I can't be of any help. The only way I can allow someone to both enter and leave Hopene'er is with permission of the guards. Anyone else… well, the only other way in is a one-way trip."

Jaran nodded, reaching futilly for his beard for a third time. He had expected things wouldn't be quite so easy. Just as we was about to speak up, though, Emil continued: "You should speak to Constable Jute. She's a good soul, in fact, the only guard I trust in this whole damned city. If anyone will help you, it's her."

"'n where can Constable Jute be found, then?" Aldrava inquired.

"The garrison, when not on patrol." Emil responded, "Oh, and don't mention Mr. Lovage or his friend to anyone but her. The other guards… they won't take it so well. You see… A handful of the guards are honest, but they are the exceptions. Most of the militia members are youths who needed a job, and whose ambition is satisfied by becoming paid thugs."

The three-story stone building that housed the Stye's garrison was more like a prison than a barracks. Three hundred guards, at least, were crammed into space only meant to hold one hundred, and so often, many were sent out on patrol.

These patrols were coming and going when Jaran and Aldrava approached. They had opted to leave Shroom at Hopene'er - no doubt, an oversized fungus creature from the Underdark would raise alarm if it approached the city's barracks.

For the most part, the two were ignored until they reached the door. There, they were finally paid notice, in the form of being stopped by a militiaman with a rather pretentious-looking pencil mustache.

"Hold it right there, civilians!" The militiaman raised his hand in a 'halt' motion, "Nobody without business gets past these doors. State yours."

"We be here t' see Constable Jute." Aldrava responded, "Private business, between us adventures 'n yer friend."

"Trust me, you don't want to give us trouble." The thief backed up his companion, "Generally not a good idea to mess with well-armed, well-trained, well-seasoned individuals. Plus, we just want to talk."

The guard nodded. "Right, then. However, Jute is on patrol right now. I'd recommend you wait until she gets back. Should only be 'bout an hour."

"We be busy people. Don't 'ave an hour t' waste." Aldrava insisted, "Where be her route lootin' her?"

The southwest section of the Styes hosted most of the district's industry and mercantile efforts. Most of the community's fishers lived there, and numerous warehouses lined the edges of the quarter. Most of these places were either abandoned and boarded up, or served as flophouses. In other words, it was exactly where the town militia would need to keep a close eye - and, so, where they often did.

As Jaran and Aldrava walked among the abandoned warehouses and run-down fisheries, they couldn't help but get a feeling of sorrow. Here more than anywhere, the Stye's former grandeur presented itself. Here, more than ever, one could almost feel the dead hopes and dreams of an industry hoping to make a good future.

Constable Jute was a woman of about thirty, with short, orange hair she kept in a ponytail. She dressed in the armour of the militia - a grey tunic and some basic metal plates for protection. It was actually Jute who saw the outsiders before they saw her, and approached.

"We don't get many foreigners in this area, visitors." Jute remarked, plainly, "What brings you two here? I hope not trouble."

"No, not at all." Jaran shook his head, "We come in peace. We're looking for Constable Jute. Do you know her?"

"More than that, I am her." Jute responded, "So you're foreigners and you can call me by name. That's… well, those two things don't usually go together. What's up?"

"Can we speak in private?" Aldrava spoke up. She didn't need to say more - Jute knew better than anyone how the guards in the Styes were, she didn't need prompting to speak away from them.

"Of course." the constable agreed, then turned to her division, "You lot! Wait for me across the street, we'll only be a second."

Almost as soon as the name 'Jarme Loveage' came up, Jute's whole demeanour changed. At first, it was far less welcoming, but this changed to twofold the original helpfulness when the Party revealed they were investigating on behalf of Refrum.

"I'm the one who arrested Mr. Lovage." Jute admitted, "Found him crouched over his victim covered in blood and carrying a knife… didn't need much more evidence than that. That's not what bothers me. No, that's what happened after the arrest."

"'n wha' would that be?" Aldrava inquired.

"Well, first he was dead quiet." Jute responded, "Totally zoned out, and he never looked at anyone. Sure, he'd look in our direction, but his eyes seemed to look through us, as if staring into some other Plane. Then, suddenly, everything changed. At first it was a murmuring, then it was talking, then it was screaming. All incomprehensible. All garbled gibberish about the sea and doom. Then, it changed again. Just as I was preparing to lock him up in Hopne'er as a loon, he seemed to return to reality. But, he had no clue what was going on. Last he could remember he was preparing to lay down in bed for the night - nothing about the murder, or even how he got to the garrison."

Jaran's hand made a half motion to his beard, this time catching himself before he could move it all the way up to his face. "What then?"

"Then, well, this is where things get weird." Jute continued, "One of my comrades came in, told me we'd gotten a letter from Counselor Dory. He wanted the man transferred to Hopene'er immediately. No questioning, no interrogation - well, not from us. Apparently he wanted a special team to do it. Don't know if they ever did, or if he just hanged. Hard to tell in this city."

"Dory?" Aldrava asked, "That's a name I haven't heard afore. Who's he?"

"Oh, right." Jute chuckled, "Forgot you weren't from around here. We don't get many visitors. Councillor Dory is one of the leaders of the Styes. He's a wealthy warehouse owner. Um, he has a skin condition. Something called Innsmouth Disease, I think? It makes him smell hideous and have the looks to match. Also, he has to take regular immersion in water, I think to ease the pain."

Jaran nodded, "One more thing."

"Sure, anything." Jute acknowledged.

"We need access to Hopene'er Asylum. Y'know, to investigate Loveage's room."

With a letter from Jute in hand, the team of two met up with their Myconid ally back at Hopene'er Asylum, and were finally allowed entrance to the home of the Stye's forsaken. Although Emil was too busy to guide them around personally, she gave them a personal guide - identified only as 'Bennett' - to see them around.

Bennett was a gaunt, older man in a doctor's coat, possibly slightly deranged himself. From him, they learned the asylum's five staff were hard pressed to control the more than four hundred 'patients', and consequently, the less troubled residents were enlisted to help run the place. Over time, the line between 'patient' and 'doctor' was known to blur, until one could only tell the difference from their uniform.

At first, this was all Bennett would say. Once he learned they were trying to prove Jarme's innocence, though, his tune changed.

"He was a quiet type." Bennett informed the three, as they headed into the lockup, "Resolute in his claims of innocence. I mean, I have no reason to doubt the claims against him - Jute is the last good guard I've met here - but Mr. Loveage's remorse was far more compelling - and believable - than any other 'troubled person' I am have met yet."

"Did he get any visitors?" Jaran inquired, "Beyond Refrum's attempt."

"One." Bennett nodded, taking a lantern from a nearby shelf, "Do any of you have a light?"

Once again, the flame flickered on the end of Shroom's staff, and it touched it to the lantern. Although Bennett seemed surprised to see magic, the fact that the mage in question was already a giant fungus proved to prepare him for such an unexpected event.

"It was Councillor Dory himself." Bennett continued, "Made sure he was the only person allowed to visit him, and that none of us were to attend the meeting. I tried telling him, meeting with a potential psychotic alone, well that's not safe… but he wouldn't listen. No, he wouldn't listen."

Bennett eventually stopped before a heavily locked door, at which he offered a word of caution: "This wing is where the worst of our cases are kept. I beg you not to look into any of the other cells. We've given succor to many folk over the years, but those here are truly forsaken by the gods."

Unlocking the door revealed a long corridor with iron doors lining both walls. Each door had a small viewing hatch that was latched shut. No sooner had the door opened than an unnatural gurgle churned up from a cell to the right, and was soon joined by other voices.

The journey down the hall was not pleasant, and even Shroom seemed uncomfortable. Constant screaming and cursing from the cells combined with an overpowering stench of unwashed bodies, filth, mildew, and rotting straw assaulted the senses, but Bennett ignored the din and sensation, hurrying to the far end of the hall, where he ushered the three through an open cell door.

The walls beyond were covered with childlike sketches, all overlapping each other in confusing waves and patterned swirls. In a way, it was beautiful. In another, it was surreal. And, in yet another, it was disturbing beyond all belief.

"See, writer lad?" Aldrava commented, clearly trying to diffuse the obvious tension, "Doesn't take a genius t' make art. Ye could stick these up in a museum 'n yer precious nobles would pay fine gold t' see them."

"Ha ha." Jaran remarked dryly, studying the art. As he continued to look it over, the swirling chaos of the mural began to take forms: It depicted a massive, tentacled creature devouring a city - and, although crude, the skyline suggested it was the Styes.

The creature, it soon became apparent, was drawn trapped in a deep chasm, perhaps an underwater pit, its tentacles wrapped around humanoids who were subsequently drawn being pulled down into the dark.

What was most odd was the creature itself, though. The drawing depicted it bound by a chain, the other end of the chain held by a creature resembling a large, multi-tailed fish.

That was all Jaran and Aldrava could garner from it, before the stench and ruckus overwhelmed them.

"I've seen enough." Jaran stated at last, "We're leaving."

"Aye, landlubber." Aldrava agreed, "Couldn't 'ave said it better meself."

With their two leads examined and hardly any clues found, the Party returned to the Alchemist's Quarter, to bring Refrum the bad news: There was certainly something suspicious going on, but they were no closer to finding out what it was, or who was involved, then when they started. Councillor Dory was strange, yes, but the evidence against him was all situational - hardly something you could go to the militia with.

When they arrived, however, they found something unexpected: Outside was the guard, in the process of dragging Refrum off.

"Hey!" Jaran demanded, seeing a familiar face among the guard gathered outside, "What's going on here?!"

"Step aside, visitors." Juke responded, "Orders from Councillor Dory himself. Refrum is to be arrested and tried as an accomplice to the Lantern Ghost Murderer… is that a Myconid?"

"Aye." Aldrava affirmed, "His name be Shroom, 'n he's goin' t' farrg up every poor sod in a quarter mile o' here if ye don't tell us exactly wha' be goin' on."

At first, Juke didn't seem quite so convinced, but her tune changed when Shroom's staff began to glow brightly. Of course, the militiamen nearby reached to their pistols and swords, but exactly what a creature known for thriving in the hellish Underdark was capable of wasn't something they wanted to figure out firsthand.

"Councillor Dory got an anonymous tip that Mr. Refrum was involved with the Lantern Ghost Murders." Juke informed them, defeated, "At first, I didn't believe it. However, when we searched his apartment, we found a map, with the location of this morning's murder marked clearly off."

"He was investigating the murders!" Jaran protested, "Of course he'd mark that location off!"

"Yeah, that's what I want to think." Juke agreed, "But orders are orders, his case will be taken before a judge."

"'n I be goin' t' guess this 'judge' be Councillor Dory hisself?" Aldrava snarked.

"Probably." Juke sighed, "But I'm not about to disobey orders. I've told you this before. Now call off your mushroom."

Jaran paused. Surely, having Shroom use whatever magic it possessed to make quick work of these guards was an option. But it wasn't a good one. An innocent man might hang if they didn't intervene, but they all might if they did.

Finally, he made up his mind. "Stand down, Shroom." He ordered. He wasn't sure it would work - but at least he could try. It did work, Shroom put out the light of its staff and returned it to a resting position. Visibly relieved, the guards untensed, and continued with the arrest.

Once they were gone, Jaran turned to his companion. "Dory." He said, simply.

"Aye." Aldrava nodded, "Wherever we turn, that scallywag comes up. He's our next lead."

"Our only lead." Jaran pointed out, "Other than a few scribbles on an asylum wall and some shady goings-on, we've got nothing."

"Nah quite. Refrum's given us a handy tip."

"...am I missing something?"

"Aye, yer sea legs, landlubber. But other than that, he's got a map wit' th' most recent murder in his house. That looks like a damn good ship t' start."

Jaran nodded, then walked to the door to Refurm's house. He tried the knob, only to find out it was - of course - locked. "Can I trust you with a secret?" he inquired, turning to Aldrava.

"Let me guess. Ye're smitten by me?" Aldrava chuckled.

"No. Just, what I'm about to do, don't ask too many questions."

"Aye." Aldrava agreed, and Jaran kneeled down, taking out his set of thieves' tools and setting to work.

As with most of the Styes, the locking mechanism in Dory's abode was severely outdated and worn, and so Jaran had it open in three minutes flat. He put his tools away and looked to Aldrava, who seemed pleasantly surprised.

"Th' landlubber has some practical uses aft all." she cocked an eyebrow, "Maybe I won't totally maroon ye when we get t' Saltmarsh."

"Remember." Jaran reminded her, "No questions. Now come on, we haven't got all day."

If the three had thought Refrum's chambers a mess before, they were beyond that now. Bookshelves were overturned, inventions shattered on the floor, and a puddle of oil had formed where a lamp had been knocked over. Luckily, the lamp wasn't lit, or the whole place would have no doubt gone up in flames.

It was unclear if Refrum had put up a struggle against his arresting guards or they had torn the place apart looking for anything to incriminate him, but either way, locating the map to the crime scene took about 20 minutes.

When they finally found it, the map was too badly damaged by a puddle of water from a knocked over flask to read.

"Farrgin' Abyss!" Aldrava cursed, "Ye got any other ideas?"

"One." Jaran affirmed, "I'm pretty sure we know where Refrum is being held. We go there and talk to him. Get some details."

"Like they be goin' t' let us in." Aldrava scoffed, "I be sure Dory has that ship locked tighter than a virgin's powder pan."

"Right." Jaran sighed, "Then we go back to plan one: investigate Dory."

"Aye, Dory." Aldrava agreed.

"We know Dory's a wealthy warehouse owner." Jaran mused, "So we can start by locating his warehouse, work from there."


	3. Strange Housekeeping

Twenty minutes later, bells all across the Styes tolled twelve times to mark it was noon. The three adventurers had chosen a tavern called the Wicked Warlock to eat lunch. Being that they were in the Alchemist's Quarter, the places to eat were nicer than elsewhere in the city - but the Wicked Warlock was still a dive in comparison to the places Jaran was used to eating in Bellmoral.

The two humans ordered ale and mutton, while Shroom just ordered beer and poured it on itself. Once they were done eating, they began asking around for information on Dory or his warehouse.

Most of what they got was what they already knew: Dory had a debilitating case of Innsmouth Syndrome, ran the Styes with a corrupt hand, and generally inspired a mix of respect, fear, and mockery in the people who lived under his rule.

The new information they discovered was that Dory's unique home was in the center of the Alchemists' Quarter, perched at the edge of a large swath of mud and known as Hemlock Pit. With a 'consultation fee' of 10 copper pieces, Jaran also found out that his house was guarded by no less than three vicious guard dogs, which, although nobody had ever seen as his house was surrounded by a wall, were heard barking and snarling any time someone wandered a bit too close.

"T' Hemlock pit, then?" Aldrava inquired, once the information was shared. "Th' scallywag has t' do some shoppin' every once in awhile, so someone's bound t' know somethin' we don't."

"Aye- I mean, yes." Jaran agreed, and the three paid their three copper pieces at the bar and headed out.

Hemlock Pit was, quite possibly, the only nice building in the Styes. While the common man lived in poverty, Hemlock Pit was a newer building. It was built upwards, meaning it took more space vertically than it did horizontally, and so it towered three stories above a large wall designed to keep the common man out.

Sure enough, the snarling of guard dogs could be heard from behind the wall, but something about their sound seemed off.

"Th' nerve o' some scallywags." Aldrava commented, looking Hemlock Pit up and down, "Livin' like king's while thar underlin's 'ave t' starve 'n loot."

"Yeah." Jaran agreed, putting his hands in his pockets to avoid the uncanny need to stroke his non-existent beard, "We only really know one thing about Dory: He smells like a rotten fish. And, wears a lot of perfume to try and hide it. So, I guess the closest perfumer is the one who might know him best."

"Aye, seems like." Aldrava agreed, and the two began their search.

The local perfumer existed in the form of a well-to-do man named Jubal Harshaw. Jubal's store was larger and better upkeep than most, and could easily be found both by directions from the locals and the overwhelming mix of aromas that seemed to seep out of its very seams.

"Welcome, welcome!" No sooner had Jaran and Aldrava entered Jubal's Perfumes than they were greeted by a rather rotund man with shaggy, black hair and the clothes of a minor noble, "Ah, a beautiful couple! And you've come to Jubal to smell nice for each other, no?"

Aldrava seemed stunned. "I- we- no, we be nah- he's nah-" She stuttered.

"We're not together." Jaran firmly finished his companion's broken sentence, "Just friends. But I'm sure if I wanted to smell nice for a date, you'd be the one to come to."

"Ah, right you are!" Jubal gave a jovial laugh, causing the various flasks across his outfit to jingle, "I cater to the nobility of the Styes, those who want to impress! Of course, it comes with a price tag, but you get what you pay for, no?"

Jaran already felt he had a good reading on this man. If they were going to get any information out of him, they needed to flatter him - so he continued.

"Of course! We heard you even cater to Councillor Dory himself!" Jaran let out a charming half smirk, "Such a shame, his Innsmouth Syndrome, but I'm sure your wares make even him smell wonderful!"

"Ah, Dory, Dory…" Jubal chuckled again, "Such a poor case. It's genetic, you know. Not a 'curse from the gods' or whatever people have told you. We've had many a chat, and he explained how it ran in his family... he thought he was safe when he didn't get it by his twentieth birthday, but oh was he wrong, no?"

"So ye know 'im?" Aldrava inquired. It wasn't the most graceful way of asking, but luckily, Jaran had already buttered the man up and he was in a talking mood.

"He's an odd one." Jubal affirmed, "Besides just the fact that he looks like a dying fish. Which is strange on it's own, no? Speaking of fish, I think he owns a few - he's always talking about his 'beauties in the pool'. The odd thing? I made a joke, if he'd like to buy perfume for them, too. He took the idea in full seriousness, and now buys extra vials just for them."

"He buys perfume for his fish?!" Jaran raised an eyebrow.

"I think the Innsmouth claimed part of his mind, no?" Jubal shrugged, "Only way I can understand. But who am I to judge? He wants his fish to smell as nice as possible, I make his fish smell as nice as possible!"

"This may be a silly riddle…" Aldrava seemed genuinely interested, "but wha' do ye sell fer fish?"

"Well, nothing specifically for fish." Jubal explained, "Sort of a custom order, no? But for his fish, Dory buys a scent called 'Euphoria'. Very strong, very nice. The fish love it, the ladies love it, and so will you!"

At that moment, Shroom, who had been waiting outside, entered the perfumer's, casually looking around with his glowing orbs.

"Ah, welcome! Welcome!" Jubal beamed, seemingly totally unphased by the presence of a Myconid in his shop, "A Myconid, such a rare customer… no doubt, you came straight out of the Underdark, and you immediately needed to visit old Jubal Harshaw! After all, only the finest products will do for a creature with such an attuned sense of pheromones!"

Shroom just stared at the perfumer, then gave a polite nod.

"He doesn't natter any." Aldrava explained his silence.

"I'll tell you what, you're traveling with a Myconid, and Myconid spore perfume has made me a lot of money in the past." Jubal began again, "I'll cut you a deal: I'll sell you a bottle Crystal Noir, 33% off."

"We be nah here t'-" Aldrava started, but Jaran cut her off. If they were going to get anything more out of Jubal, they needed to play along with his self-important delusions.

"How much would it be?" Jaran inquired, "It's be an honour to buy from such a distinguished salesman. Normally, I'd question your other products, but with you, well I'm sure you know what's best."

"Of course I do!" Jubal smiled, taking out a black perfume vial and placing it on the counter, "10 gold pieces for the vial!"

Jaran repressed the need to wince and reminded himself he'd be making far more than that when they got to Saltmarsh the next day. He took out 10 gold like it was no big deal and handed it over, then put the perfume in his bag.

"Can you tell us more about Dory?" The thief inquired, "He seems like such an interesting fellow."

"I can tell you he bought an extra order of Davidoff's 'Cool Water' this morning!" Jubal mused, "Good product! He said he'd been at a murder scene. Such a shame, a murder in the Alchemist's Quarter - at least it wasn't the Lantern Ghost anymore, no?"

"So ye know where 'twas, then?" Aldrava inquired.

"Of course, of course!" Jubal beamed, "Dory and I share everything! Not just perfume tips! I'm good friends with all my regulars, no?"

It wasn't hard to get the location of the most recent murder out of Jubal, so, after a lengthy conversation in which Jaran had to tactfully avoid multiple attempts to sell him more overpriced perfume, the three were on their way.

The murder scene was in an alleyway on the far reaches of the Alchemist's Quarter's northern end. Much to Jaran's surprise, there weren't guards wandering around - but from a few locals, they learned the body had been immediately removed and cremated.

It was clear no effort had been made to clean up the scene. No doubt, the guard had figured the local rats and gulls would clean up the scene for them, and so blood and even a few chunks of what one could assume to be human were sitting around still.

Jaran and Aldrava studied the scene from top to bottom, but other than the obvious morbidity, they couldn't find anything of interest.

It was Shroom who found something useful, in the form of what appeared to be bloody footprints. Jaran had seen these earlier, but their webbed nature had caused him to overlook them as belonging to gulls. However, on closer inspection, they were far too big to belong to any bird.

"Aldrava, come here!" Jaran called, "I think I- well, Shroom found something!"

"About time." Aldrava commented, "'ave ye considered splashin' yer new perfume all o'er this ship t' get rid o' th' smell?"

Aldrava walked over and looked at the footprints. No sooner had she seen them than her eyes widened. "I reckon we be nah dealin' wit' humans."

Jaran crouched down, studying the footprint closer. "I think you're right." he agreed, "The gripping insanity, these footprints, those murals. I'm not sure what it is, but Refrum was right. Something sinister is afoot in this city."

"'n somehow, Dory be connected t' all o' it." Aldrava agreed.

"...So, you want to investigate Dory." Came a sudden voice from the end of the alleyway. The two humans reached for their guns, and even Shroom held out its staff, ready to cast a spell. Into the alley walked a small figure, obviously a halfling or gnome judging by her height, and as she moved into the light, it was revealed to be a well-dressed young gnome.

"You can put your guns away." The gnome assured them, "If I wanted to hurt you, I wouldn't have announced myself. No, I want to help. From one adventurer to another."

"Alright, wha''s yer help?" Aldrava asked. Ye pull any funny stuff, me cutlass be goin' straight through yer heart."

"Not so fast, friend." The Gnome chuckled, "My name is Grotten, and I charge a fee."

"Sink me, thar 'tis." Aldrava rolled her eyes.

"Hey!" Grotten protested, "A girl's gotta make a living in this city!"

Jaran and Aldrava paused for a second, on one hand, there was no saying this information would be of any use. Even if she was going to give a legitimate tip, it could easily be something they already knew. Still, they were basically out of leads - and neither of them wanted to give up the case.

"I'll give you a bottle of perfume." Jaran said, at last, "I bought it for 10 gold, you can probably fense it."

Grotten considered this for a second, before nodding. Jaran took out the bottle of perfume with his free hand, handing it over. "Alright, speak."

At last, Grotten smiled, putting the perfume in her backpack. "Alright, now we're talking! So, a few days ago, I got this tip, from… uh, an associate. He said there were a cache of pearls being stored at Dory's warehouse. Big ones, expensive ones, and the like. So, I went to see if the place was worth 'visiting'."

Jaran nodded. "Go on."

"That warehouse was way too busy. People were coming in and out all night, watched over by strange figures totally hidden by dark cloaks. Then, finally, this massive statue that looked like nothing I'd ever seen before - like it was made from the parts of sea creatures - was taken out. And then… the activity stopped. That's all I know."

Aldrava nodded, putting away her gun. Jaran did the same, and finally Shroom returned its staff to a neutral location.

"If you're looking to learn more about Dory, I'd say: Start at his warehouse." Grotten concluded, "But be careful of those robed figures."

Obviously, the ideal plan of action would be to sneak into the warehouse at night - but the Party was only in the Styes for a day, and didn't have that much time. So, they decided to approach during the day and see if they couldn't blend in and do some investigating.

The original plan was to leave Shroom behind, as it would attract too much attention - but, upon being told this, Shroom used magic to turn itself into a handsome, young elf male. Perfect for blending in.

Mr. Dory's warehouse was a three-story stone building, roofed in slate and dotted with iron-barred windows. Its walls and roof appeared to be coated with a bituminous black gruel, an accumulation of the pollution that belched from nearby alchemists' workshops.

At first, Jaran, Aldrava, and Shroom approached unnoticed amongst the crowds. The warehouse bustled with workers who loaded and unloaded large, six-wheeled freight wagons. Dory rented space in the warehouse to merchants and alchemists, many of whom used it as a staging area for shipments.

However, when they got to the door, they were stopped by a large, burlish-looking guard.

"State your business." was all he had to say.

"We be here t' see Councillor Dory." Aldrava lied, "None o' yer business wha' we wants from 'im, though."

"Well you can't bloody see him, because he's not bloody here." The guard said, firmly, "However, you can see Miss Chumwell, she manages the warehouse during business hours. If that won't do, you can bugger off."

"That'll do." Jaran sighed, and the guard nodded, turning to guide them inside.

The interior of the warehouse was piled high with crates, boxes, and packages, most marked with alchemists' personal symbols and 'Fragile' or 'Handle With Care.' A closed door offered a way into a walled-in area to the northwest., a mechanical lift stood along the south wall to the east, and two iron spiral staircases rose from the northeast and southwest corners.

It was to this walled off area that Jaran, Aldrava, and Shroom were guided. The door, labeled 'Birsk Chumwell, Manager', was opened, and the Party was allowed in, to find what appeared to be the

business office of the warehouse, containing filing cabinets, a work desk, and a large table, along with two sets of rickety bunk beds.

Behind the work desk was a phlegmatic, no-nonsense woman with a permanent look of frustration and a never-ending list of tasks. One could assume this was Brisk Chumwell, especially after the guard greeted her with, "Miss Chumwell, these sods have business with Dory." and walked off.

Brisk looked up, adjusting her glasses and staring plainly at the two before sighing, "I can put a request in for you to meet with the councillor, but it will probably be six business days before he can meet with you." She informed them.

"Actually, you might be able to help us." Jaran smiled, walking over to the desk, "We're looking to rent space in this warehouse, you see. Figured it might be a good idea to get a small tour first."

Brisk sighed. "Right." She rested her head in her hand, "That has to be the stupidest thing I've heard all day. It's a warehouse. There's nothing to see unless you have a fetish for large, well-marked boxes. Now please, get out. I have work to do."

"Alright, landlubber." Aldrava turned to Jaran once the two were out of Brisk's office, "That farrgin' failed. Ye got any more plans?"

"Actually, yes." Jaran nodded, "You might notice there's no guard to escort us out. There's nothing stopping us from wandering as we see fit."

Aldrava stopped, looking around as if expecting someone to tell them to keep moving. However, nobody did. "Aye, ye be right." she observed, "I suppose we can loot a look around."

And so they did. Under the previously created guise of touring the warehouse to see if it was good enough to store their goods, they wandered, talking to a few of the workers.

What they could gather was that the warehouse was secure enough, guarded during the day by sheer number of potential witnesses to any wrongdoing, and at night by what were probably guard dogs. The workers could hear the guard dogs making noise in the loft during the day, but they never dared to venture there on their own - in fact, their contracts specifically forbade them from going beyond the second floor.

This wasn't a problem anyway, the workers agreed, the loft area was used for long-term storage. Many of the crates there were in a kind of legal limbo; their owners had ether forgotten about them, died, or for some other reason never reclaimed their belongings.

Naturally, the loft was where the Party decided to head first.

The loft was a large, rectangular room, full of old crates and boxes. At first, as the three adventurers climbed the stairs, they thought it unoccupied. That is, until three manticores emerged sleepily from behind the boxes.

As soon as the manticores realized people had infiltrated their lair, they took on offensive postures and began growling, causing Jaran and Aldrava to stop dead in their tracks.

"Well farrg me!" Aldrava exclaimed, "These nah be dogs!"

"Yeah, a little bit more dangerous." Jaran agreed, "Let's go. We can find another way up."

The three hurried down the stairs, but it did no good - the manticores had sensed prey, and were riled up. Instead of simply going back to sleep, they gave chase. No sooner had the three reached the perceived 'safety' of the second floor, then the manticores were on their heels.

Jaran drew his sword first, followed by Aldrava drawing her pistol, and finally, Shroom polymorphed back into its true, Myconid, form, raising his staff and the familiar fire appearing on the end.

Of course, the fact that two humans and a fungus were preparing to fight manticores on the second floor of the warehouse didn't go unnoticed. Workers who had been minding their own business ran down the stairs, screaming things like 'Call the militia!" and "Get the guards!" .

Still, the battle began. And it began with a manticore charging at Shroom. Shroom, in turn, tapped its staff against the ground. With a horrible sound, vines began to shoot up from the floor where the manticore was charging, wrapping around its legs and grabbing it. Although the monstrosity struggled against the vines, they proved too strong, and soon the vines wrapped around its body as well.

Jaran, meanwhile, wasn't going to let a manticore get the jump on him. Holding his rapier in one hand, he moved forward towards the two remaining manticores, performing a riposte maneuver to both slash at the creature and defend himself - this proved to pay off, as the second manticore jumped at him, causing him to barely jump out of the way. As it passed by him, he managed to get off a third slash, this time striking at the monster's stomach.

Aldrava took aim at the third manticore, seeing as it was the only one not preoccupied, and pulled the trigger of her flintlock. With a BANG! and a cloud of gunpowder, the bullet flew through the air, striking the manticore in the chest. However, seeing how well charging head-in had done for its companions, the manticore chose not to attack head first. Instead, it used its tail, swinging it around - three sharp spikes shot off of the tip of the tail, flying towards the marine.

While the first two spikes missed, the third hit her in the thigh, eliciting a cry of pain from the marine. She didn't go down, however, drawing her longsword and charging in with a battle cry worthy of a barbarian.

Shroom seemed focused on his trapped manticore, walking forward and touching its flaming staff to the vines. Despite the fact they should be non-flammable, the vines shot up in flames as if dry, and the manticore cried out in pain as it began to be burned alive.

As Aldrava reached her target and performed a strong slash from the left, Jaran continued his attacks on the second manticore, launching a series of rapid fire thrusts, before the beast could recover from its jump. The second manticore swung its large, spiky tail at the rogue, but he was ready - he jumped to the side, then brought his rapier across its tail. The manticore cried out, but this seemed to enrage it more than hurt - a second swing of the tail caught Jaran right in his left arm, and he winced. Now was not the time to bleed, the rogue told himself, and continued with a counterattack.

Meanwhile, the first manticore finally got free from the vines that bound it; they had been sufficiently weakened by the fire. Enraged and in pain, it tackled Shroom, but Shroom was ready. It let the manticore tackle it to the ground, then performed a simple spell: Electrical energy discharged from Shroom's body in every direction, electrocuting the manticore. As energy surged through its body, the beast let out one final howl of pain, then died. Shroom was quick to assess the situation and get back into the fray, now coming to Aldrava's aide.

Although Shroom couldn't use most of his magic without worrying about hitting Aldrava, it proved to be a competent fighter in melee range, using its magical staff as a bowstaff. And so, Aldrava and Shroom made quick work of the third manticore, and their attention turned to the last one - which was involved in a stalemate with Jaran. The rogue's dodging abilities proved too fast for the manticore most of the time, but on the flip side, his rapier could do no more than minor flesh wounds.

Shroom and Aldrava easily turned the tide, though. And soon, all three manticores were done with. Finally, the Party could catch their breath.

"Well, that was unexpected." Jaran grinned from ear to ear, "You all alright?"

"Aye." Aldrava affirmed, "Ye?"

"I'm fine." The rogue assured her, "My leather caught most of the hit. Now, let's get out of here before the militia arrives."

As if on cue, the sound of rattling metal and footsteps were heard from the stairs, followed by ten individuals coming up, all dressed in the armour of the guard.

"Hold it right there!" Constable Juke ordered, "You are all under arrest for disrupting the peace! Drop your weapons, put your hands up, and please, don't make this any more difficult than it needs to be."

Jarn paused, turning around. "Listen, Juke." He insisted, "We can explain."

"I'm sure you can." Juke crossed her arms, "And I'm sure the judge will be glad to hear it."

It was Shroom throwing down its staff in surrender that convinced Jaran and Aldrava to give themselves up to the law, and soon the three were being escorted down the street by the contingent of militia sent to arrest them.

They were about halfway through the city when the Party and their captors were approached by a man in a dark brown robe. At first, the guards paid him no mind - he blended perfectly into the civilians that were walking along the street. However, these civilians all kept their distance, while the figure drew closer and closer.

"Halt!" Juke ordered, "Don't come any closer!"

Her orders were unheeded, and just as Juke's hand reached the hilt of her sword, the man struck. Or, rather, men. From all around the group, what had been apparent civilians drew hidden weapons and turned on the guards, making quick work of the inexperienced and unexpecting militiamen.

Finally, the man who had originally approached turned to the three prisoners. "Come." is all he said. He didn't have to ask twice - still cuffed and unarmed, the Party had no will to resist him.


End file.
